Anxiety Is a Marathon

Anxiety is a marathon. It’s me versus my fears in a race to see who gives up first, and I’m getting tired.

Anxiety is like fighting a bear, except the bear is winning because it’s a bear and it’s sitting on your chest and you can’t breathe. You can’t get up, you can’t even fight back.

Maybe you’re wondering why I’m fighting a bear in the first place? The way I see it, that bear was born with me. It’s like my twin, attached at my hip and constantly trying to consume me. Like in the movies where the twin is a second head hidden under the characters hair. The bear is my second head.

Anxiety is a chest full of bees waiting to burst out, stinging you constantly. It is a mouth full of unspoken truths and regretted falsehoods. It’s pacing your room at 3:00 A.M. whispering your worries.

Anxiety is telling everyone you’re fine when in reality you are a tree that has been through so many storms you don’t know how much more you can take. It is as though you are a bird struggling to fly in hurricane force winds.

Anxiety is like feeling I have to tell my parents I wrecked their car, except that car is my life, and I’ve done it so many times now I’m worried this time they might tell me to stop driving.

It’s wondering if maybe you should stop. It’s smiling when your insides feel like a blender. It’s being so tense that you are a guitar string ready to snap.

Anxiety is standing tall in a crowd, even when your brain questions your worth. It’s going to work even though your worried your boss thinks you’re a nervous wreck. It’s breathing even when it feels like my bear has brought its friends and now they are all piling on top of me and crushing me lungs. It’s driving on even though you wonder if you’re going to crash the car again. It’s reminding yourself that it’s okay to feel these things, but to not let them control you.

Most importantly, anxiety might be something we have, but anxiety will never have us.